Maiden Voyage
by Jennifer Lynn Weston
Summary: Post-Abducted AU. Jack Sparrow unexpectedly lands the task of escorting his best friend's teenage daughter on a back-packing journey through France. And he thought Elizabeth was a handful... T for occasional impolite language. Now Complete.
1. Prologue

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

xxx

**PROLOGUE**

"Why the hell didn't you say anything until now?"

"Calm down, James! It's not a case of willfully withholding vital information. I didn't think she was serious!"

"Mare! Come in here! Jack says he knows where Lysander's run off to!"

"What? Where?"

"Ta be more strictly correct, I have a strong theory."

"Sparrow, repeat what you just told me."

"Lysee's mentioned, she has this older acquaintance in town- Cheryl O'Brien- who's been relatin' yarns about how she spent her last summer before startin' college. Same stage Lysee's at now..."

"We're aware of that."

"Cheryl's told about back-packin' through Europe, paying her travel expenses by performin' as a street musician. Staying at hostels an' travelin' by bus when she earned enough, sleepin' outdoors an' hitchhiking when she didn't. Accordin' ta her it's much less dangerous 'en reputed. Lysee told me she was makin' plans ta do the same. She figures she can play a penny whistle well enough to..."

"Good lord- that's why she's been practicing that thing so much! Sparrow, why didn't you tell us?"

"Because she's said naught about it fer days! Not since she invited me ta come along, an' I replied I'd have ta discuss that with you two. I thought she'd abandoned the idea! But, in light of this note she's left..."

"You know how impulsive that kid can be- you should have said something!"

"It seems I should've. But I was under... that is, she'd requested..."

"She asked you to keep it a secret."

"In effect."

"That's no excuse for putting her safety at risk!"

"Aye, yer right- I'm at fault. 'Seems appropriate I should make amends by going after her myself. If I cash in my Corridor-use points, I can be in Calais in one hour. Probably not before her Chunnel train arrives, but not verra long afterwards."

"I should be the one to go. I have some expertise at tracking people down."

"As per yer Academy trainin'- I haven't forgotten, Commodore! But I possess a possibly more valuable asset; 'twas me she discussed her plans with. Furthermore, it won't require special expertise ta spot her, with that two-tone hair she's currently..."

"James, I think he's right. Jack's the one she confided with- he can probably pick her trail up sooner."

"Point taken... Sparrow, will it accomplish anything at all if I beseech you to behave responsibly?"

"When Lysander's welfare is involved, you may count on it, Mr. Norrington."

"And make damned sure you phone us the minute you find her!"

"Within the first half-minute, Mrs. Norrington!"

xxx

**TBC**


	2. A New Heading

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

**1. A New Heading**

Sparrow slid his cell phone into an inner pocket, carefully sealing the velcro-lined opening. This sleeveless denim jacket, purchased years ago in Miami, was most useful for stowing items he didn't want flying from his pockets during vigorous activities. Such as a fist fight, which could well be in the offing now. Those four anglo-looking toughs were definitely headed towards Lysander.

The ex-pirate was hiding behind a pillar in a decrepit old train station, where Lysee was attempting to make her street-musician debut. He'd been following that girl for most of an hour, after locating her with assistance from Mare's cellphone call. Meredith had gone online and hacked into a relevant computer system, to establish when, and at what border-check station, her daughter's passport number had been scanned. Once he knew where to start looking, it hadn't taken long for Jack to make visual contact. Lysee's shoulder-length hair stood out in a crowd: the upper half natural copper-blonde, the lower half still displaying the results of her unfortunate experiment with cheap purple dye.

Sparrow had promptly called and notified her parents, but, despite their urging, hadn't yet confronted Lysee. Instead he'd tailed her from a distance as she'd wandered into this low-rent district.

Much of Calais had a shabby border-town ambiance. Refugees and immigrants (legal and otherwise) gathered here, hoping to somehow sneak through the Chunnel to reach England. Definitely no place for a pretty sixteen-year-old to be wandering unescorted. It shouldn't take long before the stubborn chit discovered the hazards of traveling alone, after which she'd be far more amenable to persuasion. (Jack had his own ideas about what to do afterwards, which he'd not yet discussed with her folks.)

The girl's first stop had been at a hock shop. Through the smeary window, Sparrow had watched her conduct a transaction which made his blood boil. But he'd already rectified that, he reminded himself, touching the mothball-sized lump inside another sealed pocket. Now his attention was needed elsewhere.

His eyes narrowed as the roughhewn blokes closed in. That poor kid was too inexperienced to recognize; guys surrounding a girl that way were interested in something other than her music. Jack had witnessed such predatory maneuvers before, and derailed more than few, but didn't intervene just yet. Lysee needed this object lesson.

It didn't take long. The rude language soon started, then the unauthorized touching. The shrill note in Lysee's voice, and aggressive growl in the mens', told Jack things had gone far enough. He broke from the pillar's shadow, striding towards the group with his best Alpha Male swagger.

"What're you arse-faces gettin' up to with my girl?"

Everyone turned stares on the interloper. "Jack!" shrieked the menaced youngster. "Whatdaya mean _your_ girl?" snapped one tough.

"I mean mine!" Sparrow shoved the man out of his way and hooked one elbow around Lysee's neck, tugging her against him with simulated roughness. "Didn't I tell ya ta stay put, bitch?"

Lysander was quick on the uptake; this highly uncharacteristic greeting told her some role-playing was called for. "I had to make some money for myself, didn't I? If you weren't so goddamn stingy..."

"I give you all you deserve, ya stupid whore!"

"You're hurting me!"

"What did I just say?" Jack raked a disdainful glare over other males, reducing their greater numbers and bulk to insignificance. "I don't share, douche bags. You got a problem with it?" The lowlifes mirrored his glower, but, crucially, remained where they were.

The heftiest one leered. "What'll _you_ take fer a quick...?"

"More'en you got, punk! An' it's time ta haul ass outta here, slut. Henri's not a guy ta keep waitin'!" Making a show of turning his back, Jack hustled Lysander towards the exit, carefully concealing that his harshest grip on her backpack strap. The lowlifes confined themselves to hurling a few insults.

Sparrow hastened them up the street, quick as James had once spirited him away from a similarly egregious situation. Not until they were well beyond the station did he unhook his arm.

Lysee turned on him accusingly, rubbing her neck. "That really did hurt!"

"Apologies, luv, but I had ta convince those scumbags I was one of them, or they'd never let me walk off with the prize."

"Prize!"

"That's right." Sparrow's eyes bored sternly into hers. "You might never believe another word I say, but believe this: if those bastards thought you were up for grabs, they would have grabbed. Everything. Do you understand?"

Lysee's annoyance faltered. "I earned a Brown Belt last winter. I could've handled them!"

"One, I suppose you could've. Or possibly two, if you caught 'em off guard. But not four! Street rats don't fight by dojo rules, chit; they do whatever it takes to win. If you're in any doubt..." he jerked his head backwards, "... just go back there and try it."

The girl lapsed into sulky silence, unhooking her backpack to stow the precious penny whistle. When they reached a corner, Jack purposefully turned them to the left.

"Where are we going?"

"To a more genteel part of town. Any reason not to?"

"Cheryl told me, you meet more interesting people if you keep away from the tourist areas."

"In this kind of neighborhood, they're liable to be 'interesting' in the sense of that Chinese curse: 'May you live in interesting times.'"

"We'll be okay now. There's two of us."

Jack snorted. Though he admired the kid's near-fearlessness, she sometimes needed to have a sail taken in.

"If you're really intent on 'seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go'- ta quote Mr. Paul Simon- you'll need to learn their rules of conduct. Rule One: any unescorted female, particularly a comely one, is fair game fer claimin'. Often with minimum regard fer her own preferences, as you may've noticed."

Lysee's nose wrinkled. "That's so neanderthal!"

"Isn't it! Impoverishment has that effect on all too many gits. Rule Two: when confronting said neanderthals, attitude is everything. This 'ere gesture..." he briefly repeated the elbow-hook around her neck, "... signals 'This wench is mine an' I ain't ceding her without a fight.'" Ignoring Lysee's indignant glare, Jack continued. "When I have occasion to employ that gesture, the best thing fer you ta do is regard me worshipfully, like you've every reason to believe I'll win said fight. Self-confident posing is often sufficient to defer a physical altercation, even against superior numbers.

"But not always. On those occasions when body language proves inadequate, we look to Rule Three: combat is the _last_ resort. We try negotiation next- something you'd best leave ta me. If that fails to defuse the situation, we take to our heels. Fast as we can! Only after those strategies have failed do we resort ta landin' blows. The two of us may be more formidable than appearance suggests, but don't underestimate what a dirty business street-fighting can be. Whether we prevail or not, theer's a high probability of incurring injury, up to an' includin' the disfigurin' or life-threatenin' variety. An' no guarantee anyone'll summon an ambulance fer us, should we lose the capacity to do so."

To Jack's concealed gratification, Lysee looked rather queasy. He lightened his tone. "Or; we can reduce the odds of landin' in such undesirable straits in the first place. You and I have options unavailable to the average vagabond, thanks to that most useful innovation known as the credit card."

"I didn't bring any. Cheryl says they're too ready a temptation."

Sparrow made a face. "Your friend Cheryl's either mendacious or too reckless ta qualify as a worthy role-model. It's always better ta have back-up resources." He reached into another of those hidden pockets and extracted a thin billfold, briefly flashing the plastic cards within. Stowing the billfold, he added, "'Tis also highly advisable to steer clear of known shoals- the unknown ones'll provide interest enough. But, as this is your excursion, I'll let you choose our course."

The girl frowned suspiciously. "You have a preference, don't you?"

"That's so. Sleepin' on the street has no novelty appeal fer me- I've done it on unnumbered occasions when I lacked any means ta do otherwise." No need to mention what he'd sometimes resorted to, to earn an indoor bed. "I've no yearnin' ta repeat the experience. You're likely to feel the same way after tryin' it once 'er twice. Particularly if it's rainin'."

Lysee looked rebellious again. "Are you going to start bossing me around?"

Sparrow shook his head. "You are the Captain of this voyage, Lysander. However, as I'm more familiar with the territory, I hope you're willin' to accept my services as Navigator. And I do advise keepin' to safer waters, for reasons both practical and aesthetic."

He gestured ahead. He'd deliberately guided them towards Calais' City Hall, a splendid piece of Flemish-Renaissance architecture with prominent gables and a tall clock tower. Before it stood something even more impressive: Auguste Rodin's bronze sculpture group, 'Les Bourgeois de Calais'. Jack knew Lysee knew the story behind those six life-size male figures, in their ragged clothes and neck ropes. Perhaps she hadn't realized one of Rodin's twelve castings was here, where the historic events had occurred.

For over a minute they both contemplated those masterfully rendered faces, of variant-aged men preparing to confront their own deaths. "You aren't going ta find sights like this in the back roads, lass."

Lysee bit her lower lip- her way of conceding a point. "All right. We can do it a little more mainline, so long as I get to make the final decisions."

"We have an accord. If, in return, you will acquiesce to jus' a few commonsense guidelines."

"Like what?"

"For one: we phone yer folks every couple of days, to assure 'em of our continued good states of health."

"Being incommunicado is what makes it an adventure!" the girl objected.

The former pirate tapped his chin. "I think theer's room fer compromise here. How 'bout, we don't inform them of our exact coordinates, but do tell our general locales?" He cut off her rising protest. "James an' Mare are my BFFs- I can't be party to inflicting any extraneous cruelties on 'em. Which is what leavin' 'em in a state of constant anxiety would be. I trust that's not yer deliberate intent?" Jack raised an accusing eyebrow.

"No! I just wanted to do this by myself. I left a note saying not to worry about me- that I'll be back before September."

"Then there should be no problem makin' reports of the sort I proposed."

The chit shifted her backpack straps. "Okay, you can do that." A pause. "Are you going to right now?"

"I've already phoned once, when I sighted you outside the Chunnel station. Informed 'em you were safe, and that I'd take steps to assure you remained so." Jack drew forth his cell phone, eyeing it with greater trepidation than when he'd faced the four hoodlums. "But informing 'em we're not intendin' to return home right away... that's going to be a much tougher call!"

xxx


	3. Adjusting The Tack

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

xxx

**2. Adjusting The Tack**

Lysander's weeks of practice on the penny whistle had borne fruit; her plaintive rendering of 'The Parting Glass' slowed more than one pedestrian's steps. She was seated on her unfolded faux-camouflage sleeping bag, on a stretch of lawn beside a tall bronze fountain. Jack was on a concrete bench a few meters away, having a lively conversation on his cell phone.

After some discussion, the youngster had decided they could visit some of France's 'must see' destinations, providing they took the less-traveled roads to get there. She'd had two years of public-school French, so could manage the basic inquiries. Jack, who spoke the language fluently, could handle everything else.

The girl also wanted to follow her original plan of earning at least some of their travel expenses en route. So after partaking of a simple lunch bought from street vendors, Lysee and Jack had adjourned to the Parc St-Pierre, adjacent to Calais' City Hall. It was a perfectly agreeable park- spaced trees, paved walkways, cultured flower beds and bright green lawns, surrounded by attractive old buildings. Lysee selected a grassy area beside the central fountain to perform her concert. Unfortunately, it was proving to be a less-efficacious fundraising method than hoped; an hour's effort accumulated only a few Euros' worth of change.

The musician glanced to her right- Jack was now stabbing the air with his free hand, as if to drive home some pertinent point. Apparently he succeeded for he suddenly calmed down, grinning a satisfied grin. Having delivered a good-bye and stowed the phone, he joined Lysee on the sleeping bag, plunking down with a weary flop of his arms.

Lysander lowered the penny whistle. "How'd it go?"

"As predicted, neither parental unit is entirely approvin' of my proposal," he reported. "Your Da contends this is, in effect, rewardin' you for yer 'unconscionably irresponsible behavior'. My counter-argument was that allowing you yer vagabond adventure will yield more 'en enough compensatorial effects. If you work off a portion of yer youthful wanderlust, you'll likely do better at yer studies next Autumn. I've also sworn, on Pain of Death, that I'll steer us clear of any serious trouble. But I got the impression he's not entirely convinced."

Lysee couldn't suppress a smirk. "Gee, I wonder why?"

"The favorable development is, I've persuaded 'em to give the matter a bit of thought, rather 'en chargin' over here ta fetch you."

The girl made an exasperated sound. "How do they expect me to learn to look after myself if they treat me like an invalid?"

Sparrow regarded her with softened eyes. "Now lass, you mustn't judge 'em harshly. It's never easy ta perceive exactly when, and at what rate, to cut yer kids loose. I know that jus' from observin'." Leaning closer, he added, "Keep in mind, you might be performin' that balancing act yerself someday."

Lysee nipped her lower lip again.

"Beyond that, yer Mum expressed some disappointment about yer bailing out on the Grand Canyon trip."

"I do want to see that, just not _this_ summer. The thing is seventeen million years old; it'll probably still be there next year."

"One can hope."

"Next time you call, tell them I won't mind if they go without me. They can bring along a cell phone to get your updates."

Sparrow quirked a brow. "I'm ta be doin' all the calling, then? Is it yer intent ta play at bein' an orphan?"

"Just for a while." Lysee raised her instrument and began playing 'Claire to Here.'

The ex-pirate huffed a bit. _/ I suppose pretend parentlessness is like pretend homelessness: appealing so long as you have the option of changin' back whenever you want. /_

When she'd finished, Lysee gathered up the most recent donations, frowning. "I could try Flamenco dancing instead. Maybe that'll bring more money."

"In hiking boots? Less than probable."

Lysee gave a glance to her sidelined army-surplus backpack, stuffed with jeans, tee shirts, personal care items, a rain poncho and granola bars. "Too bad I didn't pack my Cuban heel shoes."

Jack eyed the slim green cylinder in her hand. "The problem's liklely with yer choice of instrument, lass. Pleasant-sounding though it is, a lot of folk classify the penny whistle with the jew's harp and kazoo: a diversion fer whelps. Not something anyone pays ta listen to."

"Maybe I should buy a guitar. That's what Cheryl used."

"Do you know how to play?"

"I can learn! I need to learn to do lots of stuff if I'm gonna work for Mr. Murphy."

Sparrow knew of her interest in going into the 'family business'. It was why she'd chosen wireless communications as her college major (training in which would also qualify her for a shipboard position.) The Norringtons had always explained to neighbors, friends and their daughter, that they were employed as on-call troubleshooters for a large corporation; Mare specializing in computer problems, James in negotiations, Jack in... whatever else was needed.

Feeling a bit thirsty, Sparrow extracted a rum flask from one of his handy sealed pockets. "'Might also impress Murphy if you were ta take some history courses," he advised, raising the flask to his lips.

Lysander nodded. "I suppose it's a good idea to know about another century before you go there."

Jack almost choked on his rum. The girl grinned, impishly pleased to have provoked such a response.

"Now what's that supposed ta mean?"

"Working for Mr. Murphy involves traveling to other times. Dad told me."

Sparrow couldn't believe James would fail to mention he'd taken that momentous step. "Oh, did he?"

"To be exact: he confirmed it after I told him I'd figured it out, from the kinds of preparations you guys always make."

"Oh, did you?"

"Yeah. Gradually. Just like I figured out Father Christmas is an allegorical figure, not a real person."

Jack's face sagged in a disappointed moue. "Oh, isn't he?"

Within, he was debating how to respond to this revelation. The chit was a sly one- it could be she was angling for a confirmation from _him_. "I feel somewhat inclined ta get yer Da's account of this alleged exchange."

Lysee shrugged. "You've got the cell phone. You can call him any time." She launched into yet another song.

_/ If this lass is bluffing, she has a knack fer it. I'll have ta remember that. /_

'Maggie Malone' drifted over the park, as Sparrow pondered this unanticipated reef on his horizon. No cause for real alarm, actually- Lysander was bound to find out sometime. But his own handling of this transition required some degree of coordination with her parents.

He would definitely phone them today. Preferably after he and Lysee checked into lodgings, so he could do so out of the girl's hearing. (Jack had been adamant about the necessity of their taking separate rooms, or at least double-bedroom suites. "Yer too obviously underage. It'll put a crimp in this excursion if somebody misidentifies me as a despicable pervert an' calls the police, now won't it?")

Only one passerby- a Japanese tourist- made a contribution before 'Maggie Malone' ended. Jack took another, uninterrupted swallow of rum as he studied the sky. "I think you may regard that as an adequate day's effort, lass. 'Tis time we sought out a hotel."

They both stood. Lysee gathered the last coins into her palm and counted. "I earned enough to buy us a couple drinks, anyway."

"I recommend the apple juice."

"I meant real drinks."

"So did I. Northern France grows exemplary apples. That's why they feature so prominently in the locale cuisine." Lysee regarded Jack askance, unsure whether he was kidding, as she rolled up the sleeping bag.

All the lodgings adjacent to City Hall were expensive, but mid-priced ones were available just a few blocks further away. Soon enough the two were walking down a commerce-district street, where the abundance of 'Hotel' shingles assured they'd have a short search.

"Theer's bound ta be affordable dining opportunities hereabouts. We should sample some of that cuisine I mentioned."

"During which we can decide what we're going to do tomorrow," Lysee added.

"You sure you wouldn't care ta visit Giverny? It's a verra bonnie garden. Particularly the water lily pond, and the wisteria bridge..."

"No thanks. Too touristy. Anyway, Monet's not my favorite painter- too floral."

Jack stepped to skirt a lamppost. "What artist do you favor?"

"Fawn Gehweiler."

"Uh-huh. An' who's yer fave amongst those I might've heard of?"

"M. C. Escher. The guy who did that poster in my room."

Sparrow remembered it. An intriguing mass of improbable staircases, leading every-which-way to unexpected places.

"Aye. That does figure."

xxx


	4. War Stories

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

xxx

**3. War Stories**

Jack and Lysander made their plans over pork medallions and fried apple slices, at a casual-dress bistro. Sparrow did take a dictatorial stance against all hitchhiking proposals, despite Lysee's assertion Cheryl O'Brien had done it with impunity. Jack privately resolved that, when they got back to Cornwall, he'd arrange for Cheryl to relate these accounts within Meredith's hearing. It would be most interesting to establish how many of them had actually happened.

"Yer friend was lucky- that's no assurance we'll be. I'm aware the great majority of motorists are not sociopaths, but it only takes one, doesn't it? If yer folks found out I let you take such a risk, you'll not be seein' hide nor hair of me next Christmas!" That argument finally swayed her.

His suggestion to habitually book lodgings met firmer resistance. "The whole point of this vacation is to experience _'Sans Toit Ni Loi'_."

"I seem ta recall the heroine of that flick met a rather sorry end."

"Because she tried doing it during the winter. It's _Juin_ now- how could we possibly freeze to death?"

Eventually it was decided Lysee should make a trial run by spending the coming night on her hotel-room floor.

The girl made use of that facility's barely-adequate lap pool, while Jack did a bit of shopping. He purchased a grape-colored backpack and clothing at a low-price boutique, several items from the _pharmacie_, and, of course, certain essentials at the _marchand de liqueurs_. The bonnie Mademoiselle operating the latter's cash register tempted him to linger past closing time... but, he had reason to believe he'd need a full night's sleep.

Next morning Lysee was far more amenable to the hotel idea. She'd spent the first third of the night confirming her sleeping bag's woefully inadequate padding. Jack checked the tag. "This model's fer slumber parties an' such. Meant ta be used in combination with a pad."

"I wish the thrift store'd mentioned that when I bought it!"

"Might be, they assumed you could tell from lookin'. 'Tis notably thin fer a sleepin' bag."

"'Because I need something that's light to carry."

"That's of limited value if you can't use it when you get there."

So Lysee consulted a phone book and booked a reservation. The two downed a continental breakfast in the hotel lobby, made use of a streetside ATM, and boarded a local bus to Dunkirk.

x

"You'd never guess from it's current appearance that this is a former war zone, eh?"

"Nope. Looks like a regular ol' rocky beach. But I'll bet that's true of a lot of battle sites."

"What you can now be told is, yer parents and I participated in that famous rescue."

"No way!"

"Way! The three of us had just started in Mr. Murphy's employ, an' we'd all requested more challenging assignments. 'High Hazard', as theer called..."

"Mom and Dad wanted that?"

"Lass, from whom do you suppose you inherited yer adventurous nature? So this Mission was an initiation fer us. The location met the necessary criteria; yer folks hadn't been alive then. I had, but residing in Australia, so no chance I'd run into meself."

"Would that matter?"

"Verra much... come ta think of it, this is something you should be aware of if you aspire ta be an Operative. Only under the most dire circumstances will you ever be sent to a time an' place where you might possibly encounter your earlier-self. That could create a Time Paradox."

"What's that, exactly?"

"I'll attempt to explain. The problem is, such a meetin' has potential to affect what course yer life takes. For instance: havin' apparently been assured you're going to survive to become your later-self, you might indulge in some dangerous behavior you'd originally shunned, and get yerself killed. How, then, is it possible you lived to become the later-self who influenced your earlier-self to begin with?

"Less-extreme changes can also make a difference. It might happen that, whilst recollecting this encounter during a drive, you cause a fender-bender which delays someone on theer way to a job interview, so the job goes ta someone else. That alters the reality you're living in, to one degree or another. Enough alterations can change the world to such an extent, it'll affect the way you develop. Perhaps you'll turn out ta not be the sort of individual Murphy's People want ta recruit, so you'll never become a Operative. How, then, could you go back in time ta meet yer earlier-self? An' by the way, it's fer this reason that, when Murphy's People relocate folks, they always send 'em to a future era. Never an earlier one!"

"I think I get it."

"When this sort of Paradox occurs, the affected Timeline will try to make repairs by doin' somethin' analogous ta twisting back on itself. Which, I'm reliably informed, is an undesirable event. Timelines are more resilient when theer runnin' straight- a Twist is comparable to a weak link.

"But that's not the worst that can happen. Under some circumstances a Twist won't suffice to fix a Paradox. If it can't, that problematic temporal stretch- between when you met yer later-self, and the moment your later-self entered the Time Net to go meet your earlier-self- will simply cease to exist. Like cuttin' a section out of a rope."

"That doesn't sound good."

"To say the least! That's a Hiatus; the worst sort of Timeline damage theer is. Dependin' on where, an' how long, the missing portion is, a Hiatus can throw a civilization into chaos, wipe out every living thing on a planet, even eliminate an entire solar system. Murphy's People are in charge of preventin' such catastrophes, so, if it's necessary ta reduce risk of a Hiatus, Operatives are treated as expendable. IE: they'll be sacrificed to protect the Timeline. Yer folks and meself were informed of this upfront. 'Tis a professional hazard you have to accept, if yer going ta follow our vocation."

"Maybe you could just tell me about what happened here?"

"Ah, yes- that's why we came, isn't it?"

"I'd thought so."

"These events happened late May to early June, 1940. It was near the start of World War II, before the USA got involved. 'Twas France, Belgium an' Great Britain fightin' the Germans on the Continent. Theer was a battle south of here that didn't go well fer the Allies... could politely be described as 'a real cork-up.' Turned into a rout! Thousands of soldiers abandoned theer heavy equipment and fled north. I can add that neither side held a patent on blundering- the German forces didn't pursue 'em nearly as fast as they could've. So thousands of English, French and Belgium troops made it to this coast, trapped on this very stretch of shoreline, with the enemy closin' in from the south. The Royal and French Navies sent destroyer warships ta retrieve their troops, but those were fairly big vessels that couldn't get close enough ta shore to collect 'em. That's when the British government issued a call fer shallow-draft boats to come assist with the evacuation.

"Our Mission was ta operate one such boat, in the eastern portion of the evacuation zone. Murphy provided us with a thirty-foot long, slightly-battered fishing boat. Yer Mum insisted on christening it the _Snow Goose_. Yer Da and I didn't find out why 'til long afterwards."

"Oh, that's a good in-joke!"

"A pity we didn't know at the time- we could've used the laugh. Anyways; the _Snow Goose_ was stocked with period-appropriate gear an' supplies, and ourselves with similar wardrobes. With one exception: the big macintosh raincoats we wore were constructed of bullet-resistant fabric. Murphy's People aren't prone ta put theer Operatives at unnecessary risk. Certainly not new recruits on theer first High Haz assignment.

"Murphy set the Time Net coordinates ta deliver us to an unobserved stretch of the Channel, north-northwest from where we're currently standing. We chugged the rest of the way here. 'Took no navigational skill at all to locate; we jus' pointed our bow towards the smoke smudge on the horizon.

"It was a sight ta see, lass- could've sprung from Dante's imaginings! Obscurin' gray smoke pourin' from the inland, lit by scattered orange splotches from burning vehicles. Sounds of explosions an' gunfire, stench of scorched oil everywhere, dark queues of soldiers in the water an' linin' the shore, some screamin' fer help. We sailed past those hulking destroyers into the tidal zone, where the 'little boats' were at work. 'Bout a hundred that we could see: merchant vessels, pleasure craft, Dutch coasters, fishing tubs- many showin' marks of hard usage. Manned by ordinary sailors, not many resemblin' the blokes you see in movies. All shuttlin' back an' forth between the warships an' that oil-smoke inferno.

"We steered to a less-trafficked stretch an' started performin' the same task, maneuvering right up to the shore ta take on loads of waitin' blokes, then ferryin' 'em out to the big ships. It was no country-club event, I can tell you! A lot of them lads were standin' chest-deep in the tide, some hurt, many scared ta death. 'Twas on that occasion I learned the value of yer Da's topside bellow... ever heard him use it?"

"A couple times."

"I think the Royal Navy teaches it to theer officers so they can make themselves heard in high-wind conditions. Never appreciated the power of it before that day! The soldiers on our stretch of beach were mostly stragglers- often as not, when our boat drew near, those masses of men would surge towards us, ready ta trample each other inta the waves ta get aboard. James'd roar, **'You Will Keep Order!'** and the whole disorderly lot would fall into line. Every single time! No tellin' how many new injuries that prevented.

"Me an' Mare would set ta work pullin' the lads over the gunnel, tryin' ta give first priority to the wounded. The _Snow Goose_ could take on twenty-five men at a time. Yer Da had the task of piloting us through the chop to the destroyers, while yer Mum an' I distributed a bit of grub, maybe a spot of medical care. We made sixteen round trips in all..."

"Did you fight any Germans?"

"No lass, that weren't our task. We all had pistols, but only fer firin' into the air to control any panic. Thanks to yer Da, we never needed make that usage."

"Did _you_ get shot at?"

"We had one such instance. The _Snow Goose_ had pulled offshore fer the tenth time, when, with barely a buzz of warning, this low-flyin' fighter plane barreled out of the smoke, headin' straight at us with guns ablaze! No pistol would've been any use against that. Everyone ducked, Mare an' I throwin' ourselves over a couple wounded blokes. Yer Da kept his head- yanked the wheel hard ta port. Between that, an' the gunner not havin' the best aim, we managed to avoid anybody's getting hit."

"He actually missed!"

"Well, missed the people. The git did put a row of splintery holes through our starboard gunwale- above the water line, thank the powers! As the plane winged off yer Mum sprang up in a proper fury, an' didn't she give those airmen what for! Curled the hair on more 'en one soldier's head, I can tell you. When she noted the ring of shocked faces 'round her she snapped, 'We were all thinking it- I'm just saying it!'"

"I've never heard Mom cuss much."

"She ain't prone ta doin' so casually. 'Keeps it in reserve fer those occasions where 'tis truly merited, so it'll retain impact. An' might not do it around you in any case, for fear you'd pick it up. Ill-spoken whelps are a poor reflection on theer parents."

"What happened next?"

"'Twas our great good fortune for that to be the only occasion we drew direct fire. Our boat managed six more trips before the advancing German troops forced the allied vessels- big an' small- ta withdraw. Most of that flotilla headed across the Channel fer England. The _Snow Goose_ took a more northerly course, back to out Time Net coordinates, an' the 21st century. Mr. Murphy was well satisfied with our job performances. For the next two years, we got as many interesting assignments as we could..."

"What happened to the troops you rescued?"

"They were mostly shipped to new posts. Still had a war ta win! Accordin' to the official count, about one in eight soldiers was left ashore to be captured an' made a POW, sad ta say. But over three hundred thousand men were retrieved, which surpassed expectations. As Prime Minister Churchill very rightly pointed out, 'Wars are not won by evacuations.' Still, the spectacle of so many ordinary citizens provin' their mettle was a morale booster. To this day, the 'Miracle of the Little Boats' is better remembered 'en the military disaster what necessitated it."

"Are there any memorials around here?"

"Aye, theer's one in Malo-les-Bains. A short section of brown brick wall with flags flyin' from the top. But theer's another which many folk consider more apt; a commemorative ensign. Pretty little flag- red cross on white, with a 'lion passant sable armed' an' a 'dolphin naiant azure' on a central shield. Only allowed ta be flown by a 'little boat' what participated in the evacuation... or a ship with an Admiral on board. Mr. Murphy hand-delivered one ta us, which I believe is in yer Da's custody. He'll be glad ta show it to you, now that yer in the know."

"I think Mom's got a souvenir too. A first-edition copy of Paul Gallico's book."

"Aye, I distinctly remember the first time yer Mum read you that yarn. That was when I finally got the joke."

x

_'Sans Toit Ni Loi'- 'Without Roof Or Law- is the title of a 1985 French film directed by Agnès Varda and starring Sandrine Bonnaire. It's the story of a young woman who sets out to wander the French countryside in wintertime, and eventually freezes to death. In the United States it was released under the title 'Vagabond'._

_Paul Gallico's 1941 novella 'The Snow Goose: A Story of Dunkirk', is the fictional tale of partly-disabled ornithologist and artist who, while assisting in the Dunkirk rescue, makes one trip too many to shore and is fatally shot. A BBC production of it, starring Richard Harris, won a 1972 Golden Globe for Best Made For TV Movie. _

xxx


	5. Blowing Smoke

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

**4. Blowing Smoke**

Having enjoyed Dunkirk, Lysander agreed they might visit one more landmark on France's northern coast; the Mont Saint-Michel, near Avranches in Normandy. This was a rocky tidal island, crowned by a mountain-shaped church and monastery, surrounded by water at high tide and extensive coastal flats at low.

The travelers had a good long look at it from the shore. Lysee acknowledged the spired structure was impressive, but, noting the parking lot full of tour buses, declined to go inside. Instead they lingered along the ocean front to witness the notoriously fast-moving tides.

"It's a striking spectacle. Many would call it unnerving. Folk have drowned, or come close to it, who've wandered to the edge of those flats an' didn't start back before the tide turned."

"Have you ever gone out there?"

"To the tidal edge? No. Why'd I want ta do so?"

"Just 'cause, according to my Dad, you are intrinsically incapable of staying out of trouble for more than two days in succession."

"Now that's slander an' calumny! Appearances to the contrary not withstandin', it is not my deliberate intent to encounter mishaps. 'Tis the mishaps what seem grimly determined ta find me."

Certain evening events seemed to bear him out. He and Lysee were strolling by the waterfront at dusk when they were accosted by a pair of intoxicated creeps. These rotters, having just been ditched by their girlfriends, were now cruising for substitutes & were regrettably deluded about the availability of females with two-tone hair.

It came to a fight- a brief one. Several hard strikes to their jaws and midsections put the amorous drunks to flight. Lysee was ecstatic, landing air kicks and punches all the way back to the hostel. "Wait 'til I tell Mr. Seo about this!"

"You did well, lass, but don't get too fond of it! Not every hoodlum runs off at the first blow. A lot of 'em just get madder."

"How many other fights have you been in?"

"Way more 'en I ever wanted! Serious combat is somethin' ta engage in from necessity, not fer recreation. I hope Mr. Seo made mention of that."

"But it's _great_ to confirm that I can do something!"

"Somethin', aye. You've inherited yer Mum's admirable musculature. Jus' keep in mind, the next such brawl could cost you a few teeth. It's happened ta me!"

The following day was considerably less exciting. It rained, hard, making street performing or travel inadvisable. So they found things to do in Avranches. They walked by a couple nice-enough old cathedrals and through the botanical gardens. Lysee deliberately left her raincoat behind, to get some sense of what it was like having no shelter from the elements. This experiment assisted her understanding of why so many people avoided that situation.

After drying off at the hostel, they went to an Italian-style gelateria offering flavors they'd never tried before. Cactus fruit, olive, sesame seed, clove, tomato & basil, roasted red pepper. Jack rather enjoyed these, particularly the pepper. Lysee decided she'd rather stick with passion fruit and gianduja... and possibly cactus.

Then they stepped into the 'Musee des Manuscrits du Mont Saint-Michel'. "Jus' so we can say we've been there," Sparrow explained. It was a pleasant surprise for Lysee, who greatly admired the beautiful illuminations on the displayed manuscripts. Jack mentioned that he could give her some instruction on how to draw those.

By the time they came out the rain had stopped, and the sky had a dramatic bronzed look. They were still rather full from their gelato orgy, so ate a simple bread-and-soup dinner at a sidewalk bistro. They did a little more strolling under the interesting sky, then turned in for the night.

The next day promised to be sunny, so they started walking east alongside the R Jeanne Paisne highway. Their next major destination was Paris.

Shortly before noon they came upon a roadside bus stop w/ picnic area. According to the posted schedule, the next east-going bus would be there in twenty minutes. Lysee was somewhat footsore so decided they should take advantage of the seating.

The two settled at one of the picnic tables. Jack rested his back against the table edge, viewing the rural landscape beyond the road. It was agreeable enough; summer-green pasture dotted with blood-red poppies and white cows. He made a mental note to make sure Lysee had a chance to try the native cheeses...

The scrape of a struck match snagged his attention- he turned to see the girl putting flame to a cigarette. Sparrow had deduced some while ago that Lysee was sampling tobacco, but this was the first time she'd lit up in his near vicinity. Which meant she was ready to hear his opinion on it.

Very well; he'd oblige her.

Noting his sideways look, Lysee opened the discussion. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I admit ta some disapproval of takin' on an avoidable additional expense."

"It doesn't cost that much. I only smoke one or two daily."

"That's yer second today. If you follow yer usual pacing, it'll be three by evening."

Lysee put on her Stubborn Face. "It's my choice to make, Jack."

"Aye, it is. An' should be an informed choice. What yer parents, teachers and public-service ads have told you is true: if you smoke enough of those things they'll hook you. Then it won't be a matter of choosing ta light up, it'll be a matter of _having_ to. Tobacco's addictin', chit- don't have any illusions about that."

"It's not like I'm shooting heroin."

"That's rather faint praise."

The girl rolled the warm cylinder between her fingertips and took another drag. Neither said anything for a minute, but Jack knew she was mulling it over. This _was_ James Norrington's child.

"How long does it take for that to happen?" she finally asked.

"It varies from person ta person. But there's a test you can set fer yerself. Imagine that, fer whatever reason, you an' Royal have gotten stranded a fair distance from home an' are walkin' back. Royal starts whining in that particular way he does when he's hungry. You come to a roadside store. Checkin' yer pocket change, you discover you've got enough to purchase a tin of dog food or a pack of cigarettes- not both. Which do you choose?"

Lysander pictured that scenario, looking more uneasy than she meant to.

"The day you realize you'd choose the cigarettes is the day you'll know they've got their barbs set in you. Once theer in, they're notoriously difficult ta get free of. So now's the time ta decide whether or not you want that."

The girl regarded him challengingly. "Is this something you've actually seen?"

Sparrow's reply was dead serious. "Lass, I have witnessed people spendin' theer last cash on cigarettes when theer own whelps were in need of feedin'."

Lysee exhaled a smoke cloud, eyeing it with new distrust. She took a final drag before tapping the spent butt out on the tabletop.

"I'll try not to smoke anymore today." She gestured towards the zippered pocket where they both knew he stashed his rum flask. "And maybe you could try to not take any more of _that_."

Jack wasn't surprised the comparison had occurred to her. "Are you proposin' a trade?"

"No. Just pointing out there's similarities. All that rum can't be good for your liver."

"I seem ta be in possession of an unusually resilient liver." He was absolutely _not_ going to reveal his theory to account for that.

"It still can't be healthy. And it's an 'additional expense'. So what's your motive?"

"Ta be honest, it's somethin' of a crutch. Helps ta blur certain otherwise hard-ta-bear memories."

"Like what?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Yer gettin' a mite nosy, lass."

"I'm just curious."

She might as well know. "Fer one: losin' me Mum when I was twelve... or rather, by the time I was twelve. She'd been fading by increments since I was seven. Caught this nasty illness that transformed her from a beautiful lively woman into a crone, in jus' five years. An' then killed her." His fingers itched for that flask- it took real effort to restrain them.

Lysee leaned over to meet his eye. "Tell me the truth about something. Is that shrunken head actually her?"

"Yes, it actually is. An' that's one of the gentler parts of the account. The tribesmen who did that believed they were conferrin' an honor, and a favor. At least accordin' to my Da, who weren't prone ta lyin', whatever else you could say about 'im. When that blaggard considered a rule worth followin', he'd adhere to it fiercely."

Lysee tilted her head. "What was your father like?"

"Da? Never got ta know the sod all that well." Jack's eyelids lowered. "He did have ethics, though not the most conventional ones. A libertine, a wastrel, a scalawag through an' through... which wasn't entirely his fault. He'd originated from a sorry home situation- had parents who may've never truly loved him. Certainly didn't by the time he came of age. Those bastards expelled him from the family just fer choosin' a wife who didn't meet theer pureblood criteria."

Lysee also looked down, plum-edged hair stirring in the turbulence from a passing truck. "Do you think your mother loved him?"

"I know she did. I will say this for Da: indications are he returned the feeling, 'least towards the end. Prior ta that, he'd been a mostly absent husband an' father." Jack's voice took on an edge. "He'd informed Mum at the start, whenever he was in her port he'd not dock at any berth other 'en hers. But when he was in other ports..." Sparrow pursed his lips, struggling against the growing temptation of the flask. "That was a common lot fer sailors' wives in those days. 'Suppose I should commend Da fer at least bein' straightforward with her, but I never could reconcile myself to it... to his havin' other wenches, an' probably other brats, all over the world. In my view, Mum was special enough to deserve better." He locked coffee-brown eyes with Lysander's emeralds, revealing unprecedented regret. "Be glad you have the parents you do, lass."

Lysander Anne was one to act on impulse. She crumbled up the cigarette package and flung it into a trash receptacle, forcefully as a Laker performing a slam-dunk. "Let's phone them right now."

Jack managed a half-smile. "Does this mean yer resumin' communications with 'em?"

"Yes. I want to make sure they know, I didn't run off 'cause I wanted to hurt them. That was just incidental."

"So I've informed 'em. But I expect they'll be gratified ta hear it direct from you." Sparrow reached for the relevant pocket.

"And I want to talk to Royal- I'll bet he's missing me. And ask about Georgette, and the horses."

Jack grimaced. "Chit, Georgette is the_ last_ resident you need ta worry about!"

The bus appeared up the highway just then. Sparrow and Lysander shrugged on their backpacks and climbed on board. Lysee, begging private usage of the cell phone, moved several rows back, dialed home, and talked for quite a long while.

Jack didn't begrudge those minutes in the least.

xxx


	6. We'll Always Have Paris

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

**We'll Always Have Paris**

**x**

"It does sometimes happen, lass, that a 'must see' attraction is entirely deservin' of it's rep."

"It _is_ cool. I'm not sorry we came."

"An', as the informercial announcers say, theer's more. This edifice has played a significant role in yer own history. 'Twas in it's vicinity that Mr. an' Mrs. Norrington decided it was time fer 'em ta start a family."

"Just from looking at that?"

"It's been known ta happen. But in yer folk's case theer were additional factors. James and Meredith had just thwarted an anarchist plot ta blow up Mr. Eiffel's creation before it was completed."

"No kidding!"

"None whatsoever, chit. During said Mission, yer Da came uncomfortably close ta gettin' shot by an angry anarchist. The bounder was pointing a loaded gun straight at him- luckily yer Mum sneaked up from his aft side an' clobbered him. After which yer folks disposed of the explosives an' saved the Tower. Transversin' risky straits together can have certain effects on the mood..."

"Are you making any of this up?"

"That's the tale as related ta me by yer Da, so if theer's been any embellishment it's his doing. Which I rather doubt. James Lysander Norrington is not a bloke prone ta fabricatin' accounts."

"'Cause Mom would catch him at it."

"Yer Da doesn't really need a specially-powered lady ta keep him honest. He's naturally disinclined ta commit acts of deception, 'less he has compelling reason to. Which has admittedly been known to happen in his current occupation... I note you said yer Mum would catch him. Not yerself. So you've not inherited her special talent?"

"'Fraid not. Mom's tested me more than once, and concluded I'm only a little better than average at lie-detection. She thinks her ability's what used to be called a 'sport of nature'. An oddity produced by such an unusual combination of factors it only happens once. That's how Mom and Dad got away with fibbing to me about their jobs."

"They didn't exactly _fib._ Jus' refrained from revealin' certain truths. Some would consider that just another variety of deception, but surely you can understand why. They couldn't tell you, before you were of sufficient mental development to comprehend the need ta keep it stowed an' battened down."

"I wasn't really complaining. It's kinna like the bishop's moral lie in 'Les Miserables'".

"Speakin' of which: I recommend we also pay a visit to the Notre Dame Cathedral."

"What's that got to do with...? Oh. Yeah, I'd just as soon see that."

x

The pair toured the Cathedral inside and out. Lysee, who'd dabbled in stained glass work, thought the big windows were gorgeous. And the view from the roof (gargoyles included) was worth the climb.

They had just enough time to take a look at the Paris Opera House (where the Phantom supposedly hung out) before they were obliged to do a little clothes shopping. Neither had brought anything suitable for formal dining, and Jack'd made reservations at a _haute_ restaurant, contended Lysee must experience one such meal while in Paris. How he'd managed to secure such reservations on short notice was something Lysee decided she didn't need to know.

Sparrow bought the cheapest navy-blue suit available. He intended to wear it just this evening, then contribute it to a charity-collection bin. Lysee preferred to take her purchases home, so bought a black silk 'broomstick' frock that could be rolled up for packing, and a pair of low-heeled slingback sandals which could endure being compressed in her pack.

"You'd have to pay me plenty to get me to wear high heels!"

"No temptation, luv. You're close enough ta my height without 'em."

They returned to their hotel to shower and change (Lysee begged a sprint of perfume from the lobby concierge), and took a cab to their dinner engagement. As Jack promised, they had a memorably excellent meal. Pâté de foie gras, escargot, venison with black current relish and pheasant l'orange, accompanied by superb bread and sips of red and white wine (France had no minimum legal drinking age.) Dessert was the best soufflé' either had ever tasted: chocolate-hazelnut with an intense Tahitian vanilla sauce. By meal's end they were both fairly melting with sensual satisfaction. Sparrow gladly awarded their server a generous tip, which he had no trouble calculating- the bonus from his most recent Fountain visit was much-improved ability to do math in his head.

Then, just because they'd decided to spend this day acting like tourists, they finished with a nighttime boat ride on the Seine. Lysee thought the lit-up Eiffel Tower looked great, even if the on-the-hour sparkle-light display was a bit much. But she had no problem with the variously-adorned bridges they passed under. "'I'm starting to understand why so many people fall in love with Paris."

"'Tis easy enough ta do! I was right fond of this burgh even before they put up that bonnie tower."

"How could you...? Did you first come to Paris on a Mission?"

"Not exactly. I'll explain later."

x

Their agreed-upon destination next morn was the _Musée Rodin_, because they both appreciated that sculptor's artistic style. Being able to view one masterpiece after another was a banquet as rich as the one they'd enjoyed the previous night.

Lysee saw a lot of Rodin works she hadn't known about, and liked several of them, though 'The Burghers of Calais' remained her favorite due to the inspiring origin story. Jack claimed the blatantly erotic 'Cupid and Psyche' was first on his own list. But Lysee noticed, the work he stared at longest was 'La Belle Heaulmiere'- the wasted old woman who'd so clearly been a beauty once. In light of a recent conversation, Lysee could guess why Sparrow found it so moving. Though of course she kept that theory to herself.

They ended up spending the whole morning and some of the afternoon at that _Musée_, eating a quick lunch at a small café followed by eclairs at a pâtisserie. Lysee had planned to spend the afternoon making some money with her penny whistle, but decided the competition was too steep. This city had street performers in abundance; acrobats, mimes, living statures, jugglers, miniature black poodles that did backflips, musicians of every sort. Many of them so good, one suspected they were professionals making a few extra Euros on the side.

"I'd be lucky if anybody so much as glanced at me!"

"We're in accord, lass. No disgrace ta admit yer not seasoned enough ta stand out in this crowd. A mountaineer doesn't start with Everest, a helmsman doesn't start with Cape Horn, an' a street musician doesn't start with Paris."

So they went to _Les Invalides_ instead- the domed complex containing Napoleon's Tomb. Jack confessed that his less-than admiring opinion of Bonaparte colored his response to the place, but he didn't want that to interfere with Lysee's experience.

"If you'd ever witnessed the aftermath of one of that rotter's campaigns, you might not think highly of him either."

"Did you see this on one of your Missions?"

"Not exactly. I'll explain later."

They ended up just viewing it from the outside, deciding the golden dome was probably the best sight there. That left them time to take a cab ride around the _Arc de Triomphe_ ("Now we can say we saw it") before night fell.

They had dinner at a brasserie, less spectacular than yesterday's fare, but definitely above average. The bouillabaisse and chocolate beignets were fully satisfying. Afterwards, Jack called a cab to take them to a certain bar where he knew they could get small samples of classic French wines. He wanted to introduce Lysander to this important element of Gallic culture. He also wanted to gauge exactly how the girl responded to alcohol.

It soon became apparent she took after her mother. By the second sample she decided she really liked French wine. By the forth she'd gotten silly and giggly. After the seventh she started clinging to her companion's arm, remarking on how much she really liked him. Sparrow gently decreed that that was enough for one night.

Lysee remained affectionate throughout the return taxi ride. Between giggle fits she remarked on certain things she'd been thinking about doing for a long time now, and mentioned Jack wasn't a blood relative, and was _really_ good-looking. Sparrow, for once utterly untempted, informed her she was experiencing the effects of an alcohol-induced hormone surge; it was strictly temporary and she'd feel differently tomorrow. At the hotel he enlisted the assistance of a chambermaid to put the unsteady girl to bed.

Lysee didn't appear until brunch next day. Sparrow waited in the hotel lobby until she came downstairs, pressing an ice pack to her brow to soothe her headache... a less-severe one than last time, anyway. Over toast and juice, she sheepishly admitted Jack had been right about the hormone surge. "I guess I should be careful who I have drinks with, shouldn't I?"

Sparrow mentally chalked it down as another Valuable Lesson Learned.

x

The light meal restored Lysee's inclination to go places and do things. She and Jack couldn't decide whether to spend their last afternoon touring the Musée du Louvre or the Paris sewers, so they flipped a coin. The Louvre won.

"Just as well, luv. I think it's required by law."

Though Lysee wasn't a great aficionado of classical art, she did rather enjoy coming face to face with so many iconic images. Leonardo's 'Mona Lisa', of course- they took care of that first. The Venus De Milo. Theodore Gericault's 'Raft of the Medusa.' The headless Winged Victory statue. Botticelli and Rafael's wistful Madonnas. Michelangelo's 'Rebellious Slave.' Jacques-Louis David's brave Sabine Women.

After hitting the highlights, Lysee expressed a desire to just drift for a while, to see what she might happen to come across. Jack was agreeable, for there was one less-famous work here he wanted to spend some time with. He marked it's location on Lysee's tour map, so she could find him when she wanted.

Lysee ended up doing so sooner than planned; her curiosity about this favored artwork was too intense. She found Sparrow in one of the less-populated galleries, seated on the padded bench before a watercolor landscape, regarding it with unabashed fondness.

She stepped over to check the gallery label. The title in English was 'View of the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye', the artist was William Turner. A certain suspicion crossed her mind.

The girl sat down at Jack's side. "This is all right, but I'd of thought you'd prefer Turner's seascapes," she remarked casually.

"So I do. I own one, ez you may recall. But the lad had ta do some experimentin' to establish his forté."

Her suspicion doubled. "You think so?"

"Of course, luv. Most people do."

Lysee carefully studied the painted scene. Several groups of ordinary-looking people were picnicking on a tan riverbank, with a large fortress on the further shore, and a dark bridge spanning the water. "Any aspect you particularly like?"

Jack gestured towards the landscape's center. "The bridge. Notice how it's all shadowed? Will Turner was originally going ta make it as bright as the foreground, but ended up waitin' fer the sun ta shift, to get that effect."

"I think he made the right decision. It's lots more dramatic."

"Aye. Lends a bit of contrast."

"Did you suggest he do it that way?"

"Aye, I may've mentioned..." Too late, Jack cut himself off. He looked chagrined, she triumphant.

"So, you were there when he painted it." Not giving Sparrow time to untangle his tongue, she inquired, "Were you on a Mission to make sure Turner painted it that particular way?"

"Not exactly. I'll..."

"... explain later. You know, I've got a pretty good idea what you're going to tell me."

Jack schooled his expression to Knowledgeable Elder. "Then you'll understand why I can't do so here. Nor any other place where theer's possibility of bein' overheard."

"How about when we're on the road tomorrow? Someplace where there's nobody around for kilometers." Her tone was same one she'd use to suggest a lunch spot.

"That'd do. The full story'll take a while ta relate." Jack deliberately used an identical voice.

"Tomorrow, then." Lysee flipped her two-toned hair back, not quite able to contain her glee. "Is there anything else in here we should see?"

"Might want ta take a gander at 'Liberty Leading The People'."

"Definitely! I admire women who take the lead."

"I'd gathered ez much."

xxx


	7. I could have told you, Vincent

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx  
_

**6. I Could Have Told You, Vincent**

"I witnessed the man at his work, Lysee. Right on this spot where we're standin'."

Where they were was a sidewalk at the northeast corner of Place du Forum, in the city of Arles, southern France. This was medium-sized burgh, best known for being where Vincent Van Gogh resided from Feb. 1888 to May 1889, when he'd done several of his most famous paintings.

Lysander glanced about. This street looked like many others in this region; a narrow road between flat-fronted buildings, with the ever-present mistral winds streaming through. The little sidewalk café before them had few distinguishing features other than the canary-colored building front.

"You're certain it was him?"

"Certain as I am of anythin', lass. 'Twas an evening in September 1888, when I happened ta be passin' through this region on business. I'd stopped ta get a drink at this establishment... it looked a bit different then. Was midway through my beverage when I caught sight of a rather odd-looking bloke, a short ways beyond the terrace. Seated behind an easel, jabbing it with one brush after another, as though he meant ta poke holes through the canvas.

"A waiter noted my interest, an' informed me that was a local eccentric. Perhaps a bit of a lunatic, though not a dangerous sort. 'Twas assumed he painted fer therapy. The way the man was jamming pigment to canvas certainly suggested he was gettin' something out of his system. Jus' out of curiosity, I stepped over to get a gander at his project. It was 'Café Terrace at Night.' About three-quarters complete when I saw it."

Lysander examined the adjacent information board, which included a reproduction of the aforementioned painting. It depicted a nighttime street scene, dominated by a brightly lit terrace with several round white tables under a bright yellow awning. The ground was studded with dark blobs denoting paving stones. Most of the stark background buildings were solid deep purple. Above those, the painted sky was studded with intense stars, recalling a more famous Van Gogh work. The way the lighted terrace stood out against the darker background was alarming and reassuring at once, depending on which part of the picture you focused on.

Lysander took a close look at the painted café patrons, to see if any resembled Jack. But they were too crudely rendered to identify.

"Seemed only polite to address the man, so I did. We exchanged a bit of polite banter- 'asked when he expected to finish this, what he might be paintin' next. I don't recall his answers... it weren't his voice that stuck in memory. He had a bright red beard, almost a match to yer own hair, but it was his eyes that stood out. Blue an' piercing as icicles, with such pain in their depths. As if he was desperately searchin' fer something, but startin' to despair of ever finding it."

"Did you try to help him?"

Jack looked wounded. "What could I have done, lass? Even if I'd been a mental health specialist- which I weren't- 'tis unlikely any treatment available in that era could've helped that blighter."

"Maybe modern medicine could've."

"A number of folk have postulated that very idea. Just as many have pointed out, if he'd received effective treatment, 'might be nobody'd know his name today."

Lysee grimaced as she considered that.

"I did wish him the best of luck- not necessarily with jus' the painting- before returning to my table. 'Left directly after finishin' my drink. Never saw the bloke again, nor gave him another thought 'til over a decade later. That's when I chanced on a photo of 'Café Terrace at Night' in an art auction catalog- I recognized it at once! 'Twas from the catalog description that I learned the poor sod's name. And what he'd done less 'en two years after our brief encounter."

"He shot himself- I know," Lysee finished quietly. "It's a sad story."

"The world's full of 'em, chit. His is jus' one of the better known 'uns." But the way Jack regarded the reproduced painting revealed his awareness of the tragedy, and the waste.

As usual, he didn't let such negatives grip him for long. "You know, it never came close to occurrin' ta me that that mass of paint blobs might someday be worth somethin'. Let alone millions! I've a keen eye fer evaluatin' shine, but seem ta have none at all for artworks."

"Neither do I. I like Van Gogh's paintings 'cause the way he used colors really shows his passion. And I like Lizzie's paintings just as much, for the same reason. And she can't sell them for even what the materials cost."

"Nor could Mr. Vincent, in his own lifetime. But look what's happened since. That git's very name draws in money!" Jack gave a quick glare to the name over the renovated drinking establishment: Café Van Gogh. "Who knows what Ms. Lizzie Revere's work will fetch fifty years from now? The art market's as changing, harsh, an' untamable as the sea!"

Lysee agreed. "I like doing artworks, but I'd never want to try doing that for a living. Lizzie told me... well, what you just said."

Jack nodded approval. "'Tis well painting's not an obsession with you. The world might be better off fer yer output, but you wouldn't. But enough philosophizing! We've got a stack of arches to tour."

He referred to Arles' Roman Arena, just a couple minute's walk away. Smaller than the Colosseum in Rome, but impressively intact. It's upper tiers were visible at the top of this very street.

The two adjusted their packs and left the Place du Forum, heading uphill. The cooling mistrals made hiking bearable even under Arles' midday sun.

"So you were friends with William Turner, and you talked with Van Gogh. Have you met any other famous artists?"

"A few. All tales unto themselves." Some of which Jack was disinclined to relate to such a young lass. "Speaking of the sea: we're only a skip an' jump from the Mediterranean coast. I'd recommend we visit the French Riviera next."

"Okay, but let's not go to Nice. Cheryl says it's packed with monied snobs."

"Yer friend Cheryl is entirely correct about that. However, there's a bonnie area west of there which should be more to yer liking. Ever hear of Cassis?"

"Sure! The boxer who changed his name to Muhammad Ali."

Jack scowled a bit. "My sense of humor seems to've rubbed off on you, chit. We can only hope yer folks'll forgive me."

x

_The chapter title comes from Don McLean's 1972 memorial song, 'Vincent':_

_'And when no hope was left inside on that starry starry night,_

_You took your life as lovers often do..._

_But I could have told you, Vincent,_

_This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.'_

xxx


	8. Another Midsummer Night's Dream

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

xxx

**7. Another Midsummer's Night Dream**

Cassis, an unassuming resort town, was indeed to Lysee's liking. Minutes off the bus, she proclaimed herself charmed by it's distinctive round-topped trees, pastel-colored houses, and steep pale seaside cliffs. Among the latter, Jack informed her, were swimmable little rock inlets called _calanques_, reachable by boat or by hiking the cliff paths.

They found a hotel within walking distance of the shore, where they checked into adjacent rooms. The slick-haired desk clerk informed Jack, with a partial wink, that said rooms had a connecting door whose lock might possibly be defective. Jack concealed his annoyance. _/ This cheeky French git believes he's bein' helpful. Under different circumstances he'd even be right. /_

Lysee visited the shopping district first, where she purchased a new bathing suit; a sleek French-cut construction of crossed black and parrot-green panels. She also bought Jack a suit; black swimming trunks festooned with little white skulls-and-crossbones. "You should partake of the cultural experience, too!"

She referred to sunbathing on the mid-sized beach. It was pebbly, but, like all Rivera beaches, entirely tolerant of toplessness. Sparrow did not discourage her; he held the opinion that lasses should be permitted the same tanning opportunities as lads. Even those lasses he felt obliged to not stare at. At first he made a point of staying in her vicinity as she basked and swam, least any of those thong-clad French scoundrels should misinterpret the situation. But he soon stopped worrying. Even with that hair, Lysee didn't garner as much attention as the more-developed bathing beauties.

That evening they dined at a bistro within sight of the beach. Over the commendable shrimp scampi, Lysee mentioned that fresh Mediterranean seafood was one thing she missed in Cornwall. The remark set Jack to pondering. Cassis did bear some similarity to Capri. If this visit was to be truly memorable, he should come up with at least one diversion unique to the region.

After dinner, as Lysee skipped off to patronize a pâtisserie or two, Jack returned to the hotel to thumb through the brochure rack. The cover photo on one pamphlet sparked an idea. He purchased an hour's usage on the lobby computer, which he spent mostly perusing Google Earth- locating the appropriate facilities, and their access routes. When Lysee stopped by, just long enough to deliver a raspberry mousse torte, Jack was careful to conceal the screen.

By the time his hour ended he'd worked out his basic campaign. In bed that night, he hashed out the finer details. Over croissants next morn, he started to set things in motion.

"I thought we might go our separate ways today, chit. At least until six o'clock this eve. I've a celebratory event planned fer then."

Lysee was intrigued by Jack's 'laughing fox' face- always a hopeful indicator. "What're we celebrating?"

"Midsummer Night."

"You're a little late. That was last month."

"I mean Middle of Summer, luv. That'd be July 15."

"Okay..."

"More important: there's a full moon tonight, an' forecast fer clear skies. It'd be indefensible not ta take advantage."

"So it's something outdoors? What're we gonna do?"

"Patience, lass! Ye'll enjoy it all the more if 'tis a surprise. I'll just mention, it involves takin' a cab ride."

Lysee pretended to pout. "You're mean!"

"I will be havin' a bit of rest this afternoon, an' advise you ta do the same. Furthermore, I'd recommend an early an' not overly-filling dinner. Then meet me at this hotel's front drive at 6 PM. Dress code is jeans, sturdy shoes, an' whatever top you might favor."

Lysee was burning with curiosity through the daylight hours, though that didn't defer her plan to hike along the cliffs to swim one of those beautiful little coves. She did make a point of returning in time to take the advised afternoon nap. After changing into the requested garments, she frankly wolfed down her dinnertime sandwich, so arrived at their meeting place ten minutes early. A similarly-clad Jack appeared exactly on time, carrying a large paper shopping bag, the bulging contents of which he good-naturedly declined to disclose. "Ye'll discover at the proper time, ya nosy chit."

Their cab soon arrived. They got in, and Sparrow instructed the stoic-faced driver to head west. For over an hour they traveled according to Jack's directions. By nightfall they'd reached the eastern edge of Camargue; the farming-and-wetlands region of the Rhône River delta. Jack guided the driver through the agricultural area, directing him to park at a little pulloff beside an unpaved rustic road- really more of a path.

Sparrow handed the driver a considerable stack of Euros. "More to come, if yer still here when we get back!" Then he started up the path, with Lysee close behind. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the half-light, so the two hurried up the grassy way without difficulty. About a quarter-kilometer along, Jack made a left turn off the path, guiding them over a bit of rough ground to a tall aluminum fence. The night breeze carried a familiar scent to Lysee- there were horses on the other side.

Jack tossed the shopping bag over, gave his charge a leg up to the top, then clamored to join her. The fence enclosed a large pasture, gently sloped and covered with swaying grass. Right on the middle stood a cluster of about twenty pale forms- smallish equines, glistening white in the moonlight. Lysee fairly gasped at their natural beauty. "Camargue horses!"

"Good call, lass." They both knew something about Camargues- an ancient breed native to this marshy region, traditionally used for cattle work. Compact, intelligent, and much stronger than their size suggested.

The drowsing beasts did no more than swish their cirrus-cloud tails as Sparrow and Lysee dropped to the grass and approached. Both humans halted a few meters away, where Jack studied the herd with a practiced eye. The animals were now alert- all eyes and ears were turned towards the intruders- but they showed no signs of alarm. One whinnied a friendly greeting.

With a wide grin, Sparrow reached into his retrieved shopping bag, pulling forth two plain leather bridles with attached reins.

Lysee fairly jumped with excitement. "We're going to ride them!"

"Aye, if you don't object to bareback- bringin' saddles was jus' too problematic. I've perused this farm's web page. They breed an' train 'bombproof' riding horses, fer family usage. We're in the mares' paddock- no excitable stallions here. These lasses should be cooperative, if we take care ta treat 'em with respect."

"I know how to do that."

Jack handed the girl a bridle as they closed on the herd, offering reassuring words and pats. They slipped halters onto two of the calmest mares, leading them a few steps from the others before hopping up onto the broad white backs. Then they gathered the reins and started their mounts towards the pasture's far end. Lysee used her heels to urge the willing horse to a faster gait, as did Jack. They cantered the length of the field; with no insulating saddles, the sense of powerful animal movement was exhilarating. Nighttime mistrals made the long grass ripple and shimmer like water- they might have been racing over an ocean surface.

When they reached the pasture's furthest end, with it's distant view of low farm structures, the horses obediently turned to circle back. Stouthearted beasts, bred for speed and agility. Jack and Lysee made three complete circuits around the long paddock, released their snorting steeds with thank-you pats, and caught fresh ones.

They traversed that silver-green expanse repeatedly, side by side or on their own. Sometimes at a leisurely pace, taking in open nighttime landscape and combined fragrances of grass, horses and poppies. Sometimes at speed, wind flowing through untamed manes of white, red and deep brown, producing sound like rushing waves. Overhead the moon seemed to smile approval, edging every grass blade and flowing tress with silver light.

That marble-white orb was past apogee, by the time all the horses and both riders were sated. Jack and Lysee bid fond farewells to those most admirable beasties, before returning to the fence and climbing over. They left the halters draped over the top; a small repayment for the farm owners.

The two crossed the rough patch again, but Jack did not follow a reverse course back to the road. Rather, he led them across the path and towards a line of brush. Lysee heard the clatter of a brook ahead, but was still dazzled when they reached it. Sparrow had navigated to a spot where the waterway widened into a round pond, reflecting the brilliant moon as clearly as a mirror. The pirate triumphantly plucked two remaining items from his bag; a pair of large bath towels from the hotel. "'I thought you might like ta rinse off. It'd certainly be my preference."

They skimmed off their clothes and waded in- the water was bracingly cool, just deep and wide enough to swim a few strokes. Lysee had tried skinny-dipping before, but never at night, let alone under a moon so full and bright it looked ready to drop from the sky to join them. Long after all human and equine sweat was washed away, the two lingered to play in the water; paddling in lazy circles, splashing in an affectionate manner, marveling at silver streaks dripping from toes and fingers. Refreshed, they toweled off, dressed, and made their way back to the paved road. Jack nudged their driver awake; Lysee dug the last bills from her shoe to cover the fare.

It was past 3 AM when the cab dropped them off at their hotel. Lysee and Jack stumbled to their adjacent rooms, where neither had the least trouble falling into deep slumber.

x

Jack woke around noon, to judge from the slant of sun. His first waking stretch revealed several aches, all within acceptable limits. The former buccaneer smiled, recalling how he'd acquired them. Then he heard a giggle.

His eyes snapped open. Lysee had apparently exploited that defective lock; she was kneeling at the base of his bed, arms folded atop the plain footboard. Smiling in a most pixyish manner. "Did you know your snoring sounds exactly like a cat?"

"I have been so informed." Jack stretched again, turning onto his back. "How're you feeling, chit?"

"Kinna sore, but in a good way."

"'Know exactly what you mean, luv." He shifted unselfconsciously. Lysee knew his sleeping preferences, he knew her sunbathing ones, so there was a comfortable sense of equality here.

The girl extended a napkin-wrapped item. "I saved you a bagel from the buffet. Lox on onion with extra pepper."

"Bless you, lass!" Jack sat up, gratefully accepting the offering.

"I also came to tell you, I'm ready to go home now."

Sparrow paused, just short of taking a bite. "Italy's lost it's charm fer you?"

"No way! But we can go there on another trip. We've reached the apex of this one."

Jack tiled his head. "Have we?"

"We sure have!" She leaned forward over the footboard, grinning joyfully. "Nothing else we could possibly do, could be more awesome than what we did last night!"

Jack's mouth twitched, but his smile was real. "'Aye. 'Twould be no easy jaunt ta excel that." _/ At least in this lifetime- we've spent too much of it as acting siblings. But theer's more lifetimes ta come, aren't there? 'Tis no negligable thing, havin' something ta look forward to. /_

With a beatific grin, he took a ravenous bite of his bagel. It was quite possibly the most delicious one he had ever tasted.

xxx


	9. Little Things Mean A Lot

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

xxx

**8. Little Things Mean A Lot**

_"We've been through, some things together,_

_With trunks of memories still to come,_

_We found things to do, in stormy weather-_

_Long may you run!_

_Long may you run!_

_Long may you run,_

_Although these changes have come..._

_With your chrome heart shining, in the sun,_

_Long may you run!"_

Jack was singing at the helm, reveling in that particular euphoria he always felt when setting out to sea. He'd established that this week's forecast was for sunny weather, allowing clear views of the Rock of Gibraltar- a panorama Lysee should definitely have a chance to see. So he'd dug out his platinum card and purchased a visibly-used cabin cruiser from a Cassis dealer. The _Nigel D_ was past her prime, but had adequate facilities for two, and was certainly sound enough to reach Cornwall. He'd probably be able to sell her there, to recover most of the cost.

It was late morning, and the cruiser was by herself on a level stretch of bright blue water. Her captain checked the chronometer. Deciding they could spare a bit of time, he shut off the engines- the _Nigel D_ went quiet and slowed to a stop. Jack moved to the ship's waist, letting his eyes shut and head tilt back, blissfully absorbing the undisturbed symphony of lapping waves and easy wind.

After a minute, thinking he should check Lysander's enjoyment of this, Sparrow opened eyes and looked aft. The girl was still crouched on the bow's seating section. Looking incongruously depressed.

"Hmmm." The captain stepped over, lowering himself onto a flat cushion beside hers. "My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled."

Lysee grouchily pushed her hair back behind one ear. "I can't stop thinking about something I have to tell Mom and Dad. About what I did to get some travel money. They're gonna be mad."

Jack suppressed a grin- he'd had a premonition this matter would soon come up. One finger tapped a pocket of his cutoffs, containing a small object which had spent most of this trip secreted inside his denim vest. "What'd you do?"

"Remember what I got for my sixteenth birthday, a few months ago?"

"Aye, I was there. 'Twas a bonnie little emerald pendant matchin' yer Mum's."

"First thing after I got to France, I found a pawn shop and hocked it."

Jack nodded knowingly. "Ah. So that was the source of yer shoe stash."

"Yeah. I thought then, it was my property so I could do whatever I wanted with it. But now I think I shouldn't of done that."

"How much did you get?"

"Two hundred fifty euros."

Sparrow feigned indignation. "You accepted that fer a four-carat emerald an' eight half-carat diamonds set in gold?"

"The guy there said they were synthetic stones, and the gold was just plate, so it was only worth four hundred."

"He lied to you, lass. I had a role in the procurement of both those pendants. I know fer a fact they're all natural stones, set in solid eighteen-carat. Worth at least fifty times what he told ya."

Lysander's visage crumpled in a ready-to-cry manner he hadn't witnessed in years. "Mom's gonna kill me!"

"Now that would hardly do fer a homecomin'. So, let's see if I can't do sumthin' ta amend yer difficulties." Jack reached into his pocket, lifted the object out between thumb and forefinger, chain dangling. The Mediterranean sun struck green and white sparks off it, like a tiny firework.

Lysee's shriek could've been heard on the mainland. "Where'd You Get That?"

"From that selfsame hock shop. I was tailing you after the Chunnel, closer 'en you knew. One minute after you'd left that _fine_ establishment, I went in an' plucked it from the scurvy git's pocket whilst pretending ta assess his tie tack."

"You nicked it?"

"An' never did so with a clearer conscience!" Jack declared. "'Bad enough that that rotter committed such a mendacity ta fatten his profit margin beyond all necessity. It's probable enough he had you pegged fer a runaway- so far as he knew you could've been fleeing egregious home circumstances, in need of fundage ta avoid landin' in even worse ones. Theer's no excuse fer takin' advantage of folk in such tight straits. Least of all a child."

Lysee was too relieved to growl at the despised 'child' appellation. "Thank You, Thank You, Jack!" She reached towards the glittering object, hesitated. "Do you think I still need to tell Mom and Dad about it?"

"I'll let you decide that course, lass. Fer now, I've a notion ta see this bit o' shine where it belongs." Sparrow leaned to clasp the gold chain at the back of her neck. He fluffing out the plum ends of her hair, reflected sparkles dancing in his own eyes. "There. That particular shade of green looks well on you, chit- sets off yer bonnie eyes. If this bauble were mine, I'd not part with it again."

Lysee fingered the little pendant, smiling broadly. "I never, ever will! I swear it on pain of death!"

xxx

_'Long May You Run' lyrics by Neil Young_


	10. On The Rocks

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

**9. On The Rocks**

"So we won't be making the entrance we intended. It'll still be memorable."

"It certainly will. That's exactly what chafes!"

Jack and Lysander were seated on their backpacks on a flat-topped tan boulder, a half-kilometer offshore from the little cove closest to the Norringtons' farm. It had been their plan to berth the_ Nigel D_ at the dock there, then hike the remaining overland distance to the farmhouse, arriving road-dusted and unexpected like authentic vagabonds. But that plan had fallen through, rather spectacularly.

Lysee had warned the Captain about this rock cluster's bad reputation. "Everybody says you have to be really careful making your way through it 'cause the rocks change with every tide level." But it'd been a cloudless midday with only moderate chop, so Sparrow had been confident he could get through, if he kept his speed down and eyes sharp. He still maintained they would've made it easily, if not for "that bloody insidious wave!"

He'd been in the middle of guiding the cruiser through the last narrow bit, between Table Rock and Nellie's Ridge, when an entirely unannounced surge of water had crashed into the _Nigel D's_ port side, slamming her against Table Rock. And, more importantly, onto a pointy below-surface protuberance, which'd poked a large opening their hull. It had been additional ill luck that the point also skewered the storage compartment containing their inflatable- now uninflatable- dinghy.

Better luck was the ship's coming to ground so close to Table Rock that the entire crew had been able to transfer themselves and their luggage onto that aptly named monolith, without incurring any injury worse than sopping-wet shoes. In fact, the whole incident followed a pattern Jack found gallingly familiar.

Once everything of value was atop the boulder, Captain Sparrow had used his cell phone to contact the nearest HM Coast Guard station- fortunately only a few kilometers away. Having been assured help was on the way, the castaways settled down to wait, as the _Nigel D_ began her gradual slide beneath the surface. Lysee dug her penny whistle from the pack, to play a couple tunes she'd picked up in France. But Sparrow was too sulky to derive much comfort from the music, or from her words.

"I take absolutely no satisfaction from knowin' this is what Jack Sparrow will be remembered for in these parts: scupperin' his own vessel like a weekend sailor!" He jerked his thumb at the two-thirds submerged cruiser, just a few meters away.

"You're nothing close to being the first. Tom Boyle wrecked his crabbing boat here just last March." Lysee unhelpfully added, "During a squall."

"Hurrumph!"

"But at least this ship is just a financial loss. Not one that really meant something to you."

Jack's glower softened as he studied the gouged hull, picturing a certain other vessel in her place. "That's so, lass." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Which puts me in mind of a distantly related matter. Did you intend ta someday learn scuba diving?"

"Sure! I was thinking of taking a course during summer break. Or right after I graduate."

"Once yer certified, theer are some divin' sites in the Caribbean I'd rather like ta show you. Includin' some I've never shared before."

She enthusiastically bounced on her pack. "I'll definitely earn my C-card next summer! It'd be great to take more vacations together- this one wouldn't of been nearly as much fun without you!"

That seemed to make Jack feel better. "We have an accord." They exchanged a firm handshake.

With a scraping groan, the _Nigel D_ slipped four-fifths of the way into the sea. Lysee played a requiem for the foundering boat; a somber rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On'. To her mild surprise, Jack provided a vocal accompaniment, singing low and wistfully:

_"You're here, there's nothing I fear_

_And I know that my heart will go on,_

_We'll stay, forever this way_

_You are safe in my heart_

_And my heart will go on and on..."_

Shortly after the final lingering note, the _Nigel D_ emitted a metallic sigh and began the final slide from sight. "May you have comfort of the fishes, old girl," Sparrow murmured. He gave the vanishing ship a salute from his nearly-empty rum flask, drained half the contents, then handed it to Lysee to finish the other half.

For several minutes the castaways just looked about them. The scattered assemblage of spray-edged boulders now showed no sign human intrusion, other than a few graffiti scrawls. Irascible seagull calls rang over the repeating rustlings of waves on rock.

The rugged Cornwall coast loomed to the north; stony shoreline ringing the base of dark green foliage, broken by lighter-green pasture fragments and scattered building roofs. At the land's topmost edge, they could spot a round grassy knoll marking the high point of the Norringtons' property. So close, yet so far...

"Got anythin' more cheerful in yer repertoire, luv?"

With a grin, Lysee launched into 'The Whistling Gypsy'. Jack joined in once more:

_"Gypsy rover come over the hill,_

_Down to the valley so shady,_

_He whistled and sang 'til the green woods rang,_

_And he won the heart of a la-a-a-dee...!"_

When that was done, she played 'I Am A Pirate King' and 'Sailing On', which she knew Jack knew. Then she started 'The Fool On The Hill', just to see if that would throw him. It didn't.

_"Day after day, alone on the hill,_

_The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still,_

_But nobody wants to know him, they can see that he's just a fool,_

_And he never gives an answer_

_But the fool on the hill,_

_Sees the sun going down,_

_An' the eyes in his head,_

_See the world spinning 'round..._

"Though given current circumstances, maybe that should be 'The Fool On The Rock.'"

"You're not a fool. It was just bad luck."

"I wonder."

"Of course it was! We both saw how that wave came out of nowhere!"

"Exactly. This hain't the first time I've lost a ship in that manner." Lysee looked predictably interested in hearing about this. Jack shrugged and began.

"'Twas 'way back during my original pirating career. One of the several ships I captained was the brig _Whimbrel_. Nothin' close ta bein' my most formidable vessel! She'd originally been a merchant's boat, an' handled like one, but I found ways ta compensate fer that limitation. That is, until theer came a day when my crew an' I had completed a series of successful raids- by which I mean, we captured plentiful plunder with minimum bloodshed- an' were headin' into Tortuga to cash it in. Several of the original merchant crew announced, now that they could return to theer families with pockets full of shine, they intended ta do jus' that. Those lads'd never been pirates at heart.

"Now it happens that, at the western edge of Tortuga's harbor entrance, theer's a rock ridge runnin' off the shore into the water. Everyone usin' that port was aware of this geological feature an' gave it wide berth. On this particular day, another ship was comin' through at the same time, so I was obliged ta steer closer to that reef 'en usual, though I certainly kept an adequate distance. But jus' as we were makin' the turn, a most peculiar happenstance occurred..."

"A big wave came up!"

"Aye- very like what we just witnessed. It lifted the _Whimbrel_ an' dropped her smack onto that ridge- cracked the keel as neat as you could crack an egg on a bowl rim! Yer aware what a serious injury that is."

"It's like breaking an animal's back. All you can do is put it out of it's misery."

"But the really singular aspect was, the _Whimbrel_ herself was the only entity what took any damage. Beyond scrapes an' bruises there was no harm done to the crew. Or even the cargo! We got it all transferred ta shore, carted into town an' sold as intended. So the wreck was of no actual consequence to those blokes who'd been about ta retire anyway; they collected theer shares an' headed home as planned. All the rest, includin' my entire command crew, had no trouble finding berths on other ships. The only one who suffered any real loss was meself. It required years, an' a wide variety of exertions, before I won another ship. Which is a separate tale entirely.

"Poor _Whimbrel's_ remains broke up with the tides... were all scavenged or washed away within two month's time. She was a portly ol' wench, but she'd done the best she could fer me. I still doff my hat whenever I have occasion ta pass that reef."

Jack was sounding melancholy again. Hoping to improve his mood, Lysee started piping the most cheerful tune she knew: a lively except from 'Donkey Serenade'. Confound the man- he even knew that one!

_"Amigo mio, does she not have a dainty bray?_

_She listens carefully to each little tune you play._

_La bella Señorita?_

_Si, si, mi muchachito!_

_She'd love to sing it too if only she knew the way!_

_But try as she may_

_In her voice there's a flaw,_

_And all that the lady can say..._

_Is 'Hee Haw'!_

_Señorita, donkey sita,_

_Not so fleet as a mos-kee-tah_

_But so sweet like my Chiquita_

_You're the one for me!"_

Jack kept his gaze on Lysander as he sang. Surrounded by rocking blue waves, barefoot, sun glinting off two-tone hair and the jewels at her throat... she could've passed for a musical sea nymph.

Lysee was about to start the next verse when the _buzz_ of a boat motor interrupted. A fast-moving vessel appeared around the headland to the west, veering in their direction. The distinct black and mustard coloration identified it as a HMCG rescue boat. "That'd be our ride," Jack commented.

The two slipped on their damp shoes and stood, shouldering their backpacks. As the boat neared, the girl exclaimed, "There's Mom and Dad!" Sparrow shaded his eyes, quickly confirming the identity of the two erect figures on the bow. Lysee waved energetically. "Hi Dad! Hi Mom!"

The craft reduced speed as it entered the rock-strewn area. Jack had a momentary chagrined thought, that James and Mare had come to witness his bloody stupid mistake for themselves. But of course they hadn't. It was to greet their semi-prodigal daughter.

The rescue boat closed in, carefully maneuvering to draw alongside Table Rock's deepest side. Jack gave a brazen grin to the jacket-clad Norringtons. "You two have a change of day jobs?"

James replied in his most gratingly superior Commodorial tone. "No, Jack, we had a premonition. It seemed most improbable you would make it all the way home without incurring at least one major misadventure."

"I've a notion ta swim the remaining distance," Sparrow huffed.

But he resisted the temptation. The two castaways and their effects were quickly assisted aboard, to plentiful hugs and kisses for Lysee, backslaps and smiles for Jack. Having established none of the rescuees needed medical attention, the captain- a somewhat paunchy man with sharp hazel eyes and a jet mustache- gave the order to head to shore. Then he plucked a clipboard from somewhere and bellied up to Jack.

The name above his uniform badge rang a bell. _/ Ah, a local friend of James'. That accounts fer him an' Mare managing ta wrangle passage on a rescue craft. /_

"Mr. Sparrow, I am Captain Gerald Bruker of Her Majesty's Coast Guard. We are all most gratified neither you nor Miss Norrington suffered any injuries or hardship from this accident. None the less, I'll require you to fill out this form describing how it happened. We want to avoid repetitions in the future, eh what?"

"Don't know if theer's anythin' you can do ta avoid repetitions of_ this_ one. 'Twas a rogue wave that stove my ship in," Jack grumbled as he took the board. Noting a glint of skepticism, he added, "They do exist, mate."

"Not to doubt you, sir. But so many boating mishaps are blamed on rogue waves, one would think them common as harbor seals."

"Lysander- Miss Norrington- can provide collaborative testimony. Her folks'll tell you she's not prone ta fibbing to escape blame." _/ She never got a change ta learn how, growin' up with the Mum she had. /_

"In any event, we can all be grateful there was a climbable rock nearby."

Jack shrugged, thinking that if there'd been no bloody rock nearby, the _Nigel D_ might've just bobbed.

As the rescue boat made her careful way through the boulders Sparrow dutifully filled out the form, describing his vanished cruiser and the circumstances of her vanishing. He experienced a certain twinge whilst filling in the 'Value Of Craft' square. What it was about Jack Sparrow that motivated those capricious sea deities to periodically collect a ship from him?

He sniffed. At least it should be a while now, before the next such sacrifice came due.

x

'_My Heart Will Go On' lyrics by Will Jennings, music by James Horner_

_'The Whistling Gypsy' lyrics copyrighted by Leo Maguire, based on previous compositions_

_'The Fool On The Hill' lyrics and music by Paul McCartney_

_'Donkey Serenade' lyrics by Robert Wright and Chet Forrest, from the 1937 film_**_ The Firefly._**

xxx


	11. A Happy Landing

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

**10. A Happy Landing**

The rescue boat dropped off her passengers on the same dock the hapless _Nigel D_ had been aiming for. The senior Norringtons bestowed hearty thank-yous on the crew, with assurances they'd soon make arrangements to retrieve their car from the Coast Guard station. Jack promised to buy the lot of them a drink sometime, while Lysee offered to make a mosaic trivet for their station kitchen. "Anybody can use another one of those!"

Finally the black and yellow craft sped off, and the four civilians began the hike up to their farm. It wasn't much more than a kilometer's walk, along hedgerow-lined rural roads. But it was mostly uphill so James insisted on shouldering his kid's honorably-frayed backpack.

Mother and daughter soon moved to the fore, Mare's arm affectionately circling Lysee's shoulders. ("Did you wear that pendant the whole time?" "Not the_ whole _time.") They were soon chatting about all the artworks Lysee had seen.

James gave the other returnee a tap on the arm, signaling him to fall back. Jack, who'd been expecting this, braced himself as the women moved out of hearing range. "Callin' me on the carpet, Commodore?"

"Halfway onto it. I'll never entirely approve of the way you handled this, Sparrow. You took some real risks, and not just with your own welfare. You two could've fallen prey to any number of mishaps! Using the back roads can be dangerous, hostels aren't the safest places to stay..."

"Now James, surely yer aware that movie's fiction!"

"Yes, but less-controlled environments are more hazardous by nature. Particularly for a young woman. I do concur, Lysee was undoubtedly much safer with you along. But I hope you didn't give her any idea she should make a habit of taking such chances."

Jack arched a brow. "She might have to, if she makes Operative."

"That will be different. She'll be an adult, with a much better sense of her own limitations. And she'll be provided with guidance and equipment."

"Lots of Missions still involve risk. Isn't that why we got inta the profession?"

"Also to be of service to others," Norrington reminded stolidly.

"Aye, that too. Havin' grown up under your influence, I don't imagine the chit'll be lackin' in such predilections."

James' expression softened as his gaze turned aft, towards his enthusiastically chatting offspring. Lysander Anne didn't need outlandish hair-color to stand out; that kid's spirit illuminated her like a sparkler's corona. "I don't imagine so either. And I can perceive Lysee had an enjoyable time. It's been years since I've seen her look this happy."

Sparrow gave an inner sigh of relief- apparently all the reprimands had been attended to. "I did me best! The lass took on a cargo of interestin' experiences, right up to an' includin' the finish. I wager ye'll find her a bit more appreciative an' responsible now. Ez well as more fully informed."

Norrington's face suggested a long-borne burden had been lifted away. "I have long suspected that, of us three, you were the best equipped to explain our 'special situation' in a manner she could believe. We _do_ owe you thanks for that."

"I'd consider a fatted calf ta be an adequate expression of gratitude."

James grinned. "How would you feel about pork roast and raspberry pie?"

Jack's eyes danced. "That'll do nicely!"

"You won't have to wait much longer- here's our driveway."

The foursome had barely started up that pebbly incline when, with a barrage of barks, Royal barreled down to meet them. Lysee shrieked happily as the creature jumped all over her, as vigorously as a ten-year-old dog could manage. Jack reminded himself, he must see about arranging another Fountain treatment for the beastie.

They were halfway up the drive when a squawking back-and-white form rushed down from a tree to bound into Lysee's arms. As the girl bestowed cuddling and endearments, Georgette regarded Jack over the girl's shoulder with the most affectionate expression she'd ever granted him. Sparrow's mouth quirked. "Guess my friend's friend is my friend," he muttered. It was a relief to finally bury that rusty old hatchet.

As they neared the buildings, Pirate and Granuaile trotted up to the barnside fence, neighing excitedly. Lysee hurried over, depositing Georgette on the mounting block before embracing both equine muzzles. "I really missed you guys!"

Even Jules seemed to be extending welcome; he was on the barn roof, green-and-gold tail spread in his best fandance display. Georgette, entranced by the shimmering feathers, craned her neck to stare. The tableau reminded Sparrow of some half-recalled song lyric about 'peacocks and monkeys'...

"I should go in now, to get the roast ready. Would you like me to drop your pack in the guest room?" offered Mare.

"That'd be most hospitable of you, darlin'." As Jack handed over his grape-colored luggage, the lyric sprang to mind.

_/ 'Let peacocks and monkeys in purple adornings, Show her the way to my bridal chamber.' That might be a nice gesture ta include, when the time comes... if it ever does, /_ he reminded himself. But it did seem more probable, after all the two of them had recently shared.

The girl unhooked a halter from the barn door, hopped into the pasture and bridled Pirate. Using a fence rail to mount, she put heels to the horse and galloped uphill towards the knoll. Sparrow and James stepped over to the fence to watch. Georgette joined them, curling her tail around a vertical post.

"Lysee's never shown any penchant for bareback riding before. Is this your doing?" inquired her dad.

Sparrow shrugged. "Could be. Could also be, she wants ta perfect another skill which might come up on a Mission. That gal's going ta make a superb Operative some years down the line." Jack's fond gaze hinted at what else he hoped she might become. Just outside his line of sight, Norrington gave him a very searching look.

After some seconds, the recipient felt it. "Is anythin' wrong, Commodore?"

James pressed his lips, the way he did when giving careful consideration to some matter. "No. I guess nothing's wrong. Well... I should take her knapsack up to her room." Norrington strode into the house with no backward glance. Jack shrugged again- he'd ponder that remark later.

The former buccaneer leaned against the fence's top rail, grinning to see that mounted figure now posed dramatically atop the pasture knoll, horse and human manes flapping in the breeze. Georgette chittered approval, Granuaile whinnied in concurrence, Jules called a loud avian call.

Jack's smile widened further. "We're all in accord, mates. 'Long may you run', lass!"

**XXX**

**THE END**

**XXX**

_'Let peacocks and monkeys in purple adornings, Show her the way to my bridal chamber' is an excerpt from 'Night of My Nights', from the musical _**_Kismet, _**_lyrics by Robert Wright and George Forrest, music by Alexander Borodin._


End file.
